


Fantasy or Reality?

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seekers? Pah, mech if you want some really kinky ‘facing, its medics ya want to go bother...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasy or Reality?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the LJ tfanon kinkmeme. I hadn't realised I hadn't posted it on here till I had a folder clean out. One of my first ever attempts at something vaguely higher rated.

“Seekers, pah, mech if you want some really kinky ‘facing, its medics ya want to go bother.” 

“Medics?” 

“Oh yeah.” 

“Come off it, Ratchet is probably the least likely mech on board to be into anything of the sort, and First Aid is probably so shy he doesn’t know how to go wild.” 

“Okay, look at it this way. How many maintenance check ups have you been to?” 

“Just the usual one every month.” 

“And they check everything, right?” 

“Yes, so?” 

“So they know exactly where all your sensors are, where your wiring and energon lines are. And they know this for all the frames on board. Slag, they could probably have Prime screaming if they wanted to.” 

“But they wouldn’t. Just because they can doesn’t mean they will.” 

“Yeah, go ask one of the older mechs, Hide or Jazz will probably tell you about the parties that the med students used to organise at the Academy in Iacon.” 

“I will do, but not when I’m due on patrol.” 

“Yeah, Prowl will have me in the brig if I’m late to the control room again.”

* * *

Stepping out of the door he had been loitering in Wheeljack tilted his helm as he stared at the backs of the two mechs. Pffft, Ratch an’ Hoist would get a good laugh out of that memory file. Detouring to the medbay Jack started to hummmm an old Cybertronian victory march. 

Hoist looked up and vented as Wheeljack trotted in, his vocal indicators flashing in suppressed mirth. “What did you do this time?” 

“Not me this time, but I got something you and Ratch have got to listen to.” 

Tilting his helm Hoist pointed at Ratchets office. 

Finishing the file for the third time the four mechs squashed around the single desk were all grinning, or in one cause, outright smirking. 

“So?” Wheeljack prompted as he looked around the table, “You three aint going to let that pass are you?” 

“Definitely not.” Hoist said as his optics dimmed in thought. 

“I have an idea.” First Aid said with a snigger.

* * *

“Uh, Ratchet? Hoist?” No answer was forthcoming despite the summons to appear for a checkup after his shift had finished. 

“Maybe they’re off having wild kinky sex.” His companion snarked. 

“Very funny.” Just because he didn’t believe that medics were like that. It was common knowledge for Pit’s sake. 

“What was that?” His companion was staring at Ratchets office, confusion and concentration mingling on his faceplates. 

“What was what?” 

“Listen.” 

Tilting his helm and dialling his audios up he could just make out the voices coming from the office. 

_“That’s it Aid, not too hard.”_

_“Nice and slow.”_

_“Yes, just like that.”_

“Is that Ratchet and Hoist?” 

“I think so.” 

_“Frag you, slagging glitches!”_

_“Shush Jack, you’re ruining the mood.”_

_“Mmmmm, good pets keep quite and enjoy.”_

“You put them up to this.” He blinked at the accusation as he shook several tempting images out of his processor. First Aid slowly teasing Wheeljack as Hoist and Ratchet watched. Prrrrrrrr. He suppressed his fans before they managed to start. 

“Me? Do you really think I could get them to do that?” 

_“Oh yes Aid, like that. Stroke him, make him beg.”_

“Well, I suppose not.” 

_“Frag you!”_

_“Oh no Jack, Frag you.”_

_“As many times as we want...”_

_“As long as we want...”_

_“As hard as we want...”_

_“And you’ll take it all won’t you?”_

_“Mmmm.”_

_“I don’t think I heard that.”_

_“Mmmmmmm!”_

_“Now now, it can’t be that hard to answer a simple question can it?”_

_“It can be when your mmmm, apprentice, prrrrrr, has my spike, hsssss, all but buried in his throat.”_

“I did not need to know that.” 

Restraining his errant fans again he glared at the other bot who was ruining a good fantasy. 

Oh and what a wonderful fantasy it is. Wheeljack, bound across Ratchets desk, First Aid between his legs, glossa swiping over the extended spike. Ratchet and Hoist watching with lust filled optics as they teased the engineer. The smell of transfluid in the air and the hum of cooling fans filling the small office. 

Thinking of cooling fans... 

Slag. 

Nevermind. 

They were medics, they wouldn’t mind a bot watching, let alone listening. 

_“I think he’s ready.”_

_“Definitely, so wet, so hot, just begging for our spikes aren’t you.”_

_“Yssssss.”_

_“Oooooh, you’re so tight.”_

_“Oh yes, deep and slow Aid, make him scream for you.”_

_“I think he can put his mouth to much better use than screaming, can’t you?”_

_“Ye...mmmmf”_

_“See, much better.”_

_“Mmmmmm”_

_“Now I’m just feeling left out.”_

_“Oh, I’m sure Aid wouldn’t mind you joining him.”_

_“Of course not, it’s just how you want to join me that’s the question.”_

_“I think I’m going to take your pretty little valve Aid, drive you even deeper into our little pet. How does that sound?”_

_“Mmmmmmmf!”_

_“Oh shush, nobody asked you Jack.”_

“You’re enjoying this.” 

Ruin a mechs mood why don’t you? “If you’re not then why are you still here?” 

He gives me a look which could scorch the plating off Devastator before stalking out of the medbay, muttering about outrageous medics and how he’ll never be able to get a checkup again. 

Ha. That’s the fun bit. Imagining those hands straying from their professional arc to dip into seams and tweak sensors. For the helm to lean in, nip at plating, tug at wiring, swirl a glossa round a sensor cluster. Oh yes. For the feel of a spike sliding into a waiting valve, fingers digging into hips, the scent of transfluid in the air, the soft clang of metal meeting metal, screams of ecstasy and the pinging of cooling metal... 

...And the wrestling the cooling fans into submission and pretending to be offline on a berth as the office door cycles open...


End file.
